It’s a little before midnight as I walk up Lafayette Street in Salem, past Los Amigos Market and Harbor Street. The sound of a loud bang startles me, and I feel terribly unnerved as I try to keep cool and continue on my way. A second clap of violent noise follows, however it is accompanied by bright blue and red lights in the sky. I feel instantly relieved. I had forgotten that it was two days before the Fourth of July, and it was only natural for the neighborhood kids to test out a couple of their bootlegged fireworks in advance, if only to make sure they hadn’t been ripped off. Three nights ago there was a shooting on Ropes Street, right behind Major’s Pub, about a block from where I am when I see the fireworks. Tonight, the commotion in this neighborhood is celebratory in nature, but I wonder how many other people jumped when they heard the first bang tonight.
I always look out of place on my late night walks from the Hotel to my house on Linden Street. My tailored suits and designer ties get strange looks from the people who pass me on my journey. Most people have been out of work for hours by the time I begin my trek home from the office. Sometimes I’m curious what people think. In a town that is rarely innocent or normal, I doubt people draw the correct conclusions. A young man in a nice suit walking through a rough neighborhood at night could mean any number of things; an aspiring sports writer who is working a hotel job to make ends meet doesn’t seem as plausible in this neighborhood as a prominent drug dealer, a corrupt local politician, or a crooked used car salesman here to buy stolen parts from carjackers. Any of those things would fit in better here than I actually do, so sometimes, I pretend.
Often times I find myself thinking about the guests of my hotel on these walks. The people who stay with us are often here for their annual vacation, or for a wedding, or a graduation. They see the sides of Salem that they want to see: historic, intellectual, up and coming, “liberal” and “green”. The dozens of museums and gift shops and boutiques give a great image of a beautiful New England vacation destination, and as a transplanted local I have to admit these tricks sometimes fool me as well. However the real Salem is here, in the Point, and once you’ve seen it you are always aware of it’s presence. This town is not rich; in fact it is barely even middle class. The incidence of mental illness, drug addiction and alcoholism is startlingly high, and the longer you live here, the more visible it becomes. Spend even one day volunteering at the homeless shelter downtown and you will realize the sad reality that there aren’t enough beds there for those in need, even in the warm summers. The disparity between the perception and reality of Salem has become irreconciliable.
The Hotel, which sits on the edge of Pickering Wharf, the Point and Downtown, is a symbol of the duality of the city. A four-star, luxury facility, the Hotel is mandated by law to provide public bathrooms. The result of this law? The homeless come here to piss and shit. If you work the front desk, you get to know many of them by face, and the more amicable ones by name as well.
I never really know how to feel about these conflicting aspects of Salem. Living in a relatively safe and nice neighborhood allows me a certain amount of distance from the harsh realties of Life Bridge Shelter and Lafayette Park. Being a college student gives me the even greater luxury of belonging to a unique and united subgroup of the cities population. In many ways I admit that embracing these factors is a cop out; a way of ignoring how hippocritical it is for me to stand behind a desk and ask for $265 for one night of shelter while dozens lack money or food just a few blocks away.
Tonight, however, there are celebrations. There are fireworks in the Point, and there will be tomorrow as well. After Monday, the sources of sounds of the night are anyone’s guess.
